Mediocrity at its Height: Xiaolin Randomness
by justgottobe
Summary: Little spats of what can only be called a pitiful attempt at random humour. Will make you defecate WTF signs. I want to eat your reviews, please.
1. A Jack Thing

Hehehe, this is my first Xiaolin Showdown fanfic. This has no relation to the original plot-line whatsoever. It is more a series of skits of the characters in… seriously weird and fudged upsituations. S'not s'posed to make sense :)

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MEDIOCRITY AT ITS HEIGHT 

A lil ditty by Death-by-Candy (Comes in fifteen colours!)

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Chapter One: A Jack Thing 

He was hunched over his newest invention, putting the final touches on it; a little tap there and a shake over there.

Finally he was done. He lent back, admiring his work with a proud smirk. The purple ghost flitted above his shoulder, a dubious yet pitiful look across its mask.

"Uhmmm, Jack?" It rasped over the boys shoulder. He turned his head to face her, a haughty expression plastered over his face.

"Yea?"

Purple tendrils wrung each other nervously. "Well, how _exactly _is this going to help us when we retrieve the next Shen-Gon-Wu? It, uh, doesn't seem very… what's the word? Hmmm, that right: it's fucked up, _Jack_. Jesus Christ, what in the world is wrong with you? It's a freaking pasta painting, _Jack_! You're going to fight four warriors with cardboard, glue and noodles! _They're going to be so scared!_" She rolled her… spirals.

"WHY IS THERE EMPHASIS ON MY NAME, _WUYA_?' Jack hollered, slipping his goggles over his eyes.

Wuya stared at him for a second, and then sighed like someone who has just seen a dead puppy and floated over to the mini-bar in the corner of Jacks lair. There was a tinkling of bottles, and, despite the fact Wuya was a ghost and couldn't touch anything, she came back from behind the bar with two shots of vodka.

Jack took one, and then turned back to his invention. It was, indeed, as Wuya had pointed out- a pasta painting, and a pretty hideous one at that.

"It _could _work." He shrugged. Wuya hissed.

"HOLY CRAP! It's mighty Jack and his Pasta Painting of DOOM! We surrender! We surrender, lest we be faced by their wrath!" Wuya screeched sarcastically, floating in spastic circles.

"Wuya, Wuya, Wuya," Jack said deprecatingly, "If you act like that you'll never understand the delight and joy that can come from making pasta paintings!" He took a sip from his glass and leant against his worktable. Swilling his glass, he gave Wuya a thoughtful look, who recoiled, fearing the worst.

"Wuya. I have pondered long and hard on this--"

"Five seconds." She interjected, draining her glass.

"Five seconds then," he surrendered, "Anyway, I have decided to teach you the ancient art of… _pasta paintings_!" He watched her face for signs of said delight and joy. None appeared.

Silence

"_Pasta. Paintings._" He repeated, boyish excitement barely contained within his voice.

"Yeah, I heard you." Wuya examined her empty shot glass.

Silence

"Alright then," Wuya said, "But first I'm getting refills."

END OF CHAPTER ONE

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-Vomits rainbows- Hmmm... Anyway, enjoy and review, thanks! And dont forget about the kitties! Do it for the kitties!

-Death-by-Candy


	2. Repent, Emo Scum!

Another fix of spazziness, courtesy of me, your DOO_OOooo_M. Uhm 3

Xiaolin Showdown does not belong to me, if it did, no one would watch it /

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MEDIOCRITY AT ITS HEIGHT

A tale of woe and misery by Death-by-Candy

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Chapter Two: Repent, Emo Scum!

The room was… hang on… it should be illegal to call it a room… it was more of a stall... yes… a stall. Anyway, it was dark; pitch dark. Black as night. Um, I think the point I'm trying to get across was that it was dark. Yeah.

Ahem. The walls of the tiny stall were painted black, and hung with black velvet drapes. Tubes of black lipstick and eyeliner lined the shelf above the black mat that could only be a bed.

Huddled in the corner of the room, rocking back and forth was a pitiful excuse for a Xiaolin monk. It was Raimundo. Over the past few weeks he'd been descending slowly and painfully into emo-ness due to an insult from a tree.

The insult had taken place during Raimudos' first high. But that's beside the point. We're trying to describe the endless pain and hate and… un-joyness that Raimundo feels- like little un-joy filled spikes stuck in his black, black heart.

His hair was now black (courtesy of Kimiko the Wonder Dog) and eyeliner caked half his face. To play the part fully, he had also signed up with the local poetry club. The only one in China to be exact. Let us zoom in on the corner of Raimudos' mat. Ah yes, there it is: a scrap of paper with Rais' latest poem. Shall we scrutinize? _Yes_. Yes we shall.

_To be? Or not to be? That is the question…_

_That last sentence was totally mine._

_Douche bag._

_Understand that:_

_I am alone_

_Falling free_

_Trying my best not to forget._

_You know:_

_My hips… don't lie..._

_Rudebox, do the rudebox,_

_Cos you so nasty__  
__Rudebox, shake your rudebox, _

_Why you so nasty._

_I wish_

_I was._

_A punk rocker._

_With flowers in my hair…_

…

Interesting.

On with the story: It was five o'clock in the morning when Omi trotted up to Raimundos stall and smashed through his stable door. Wood chips flew though the air and a particularly large one impaled Ninja Fred The Emo Bear With A Heart Full Of Sorrow.

"RAIMUNDO, YOU FUCKER!" The small boy shrieked, leaping onto pain personified.

"Whaaaaaaat did I do?" Raimundo moaned, running his black-fingernailed hands through his hair.

"You are aware of what you have done!" Omi growled, slapping Rai over the back of the head, "Now you are coming with me!"

Rai let himself be dragged by the ear through the Xiaolin Temple corridors until Omi stopped at the door to the entrance room.

"HOLY JESUS IN A STRIP CLUB!" Kimiko could be heard through the door.

"Well if I ain't a steaming bag of horse shit!" Clays voice joined in.

Omi set a Xiaolin record by smashing another door into splinters in one morning. Charging through the hole in the wall, Raimundo flopping on the floor behind him, Omi walked over to Clay and Kimiko.

"See what you have done, you bastard!" Omi yelled, spit spraying over his friends.

Raimundo lifted his woe-filled head and blinked at the room. There was nothing unusual about it. To him, anyway.

But the monks saw it another way. There was a dead cat nailed to the wall in the centre of an upside down pentagram that was painted in red.

"What the feck!" Kimiko growled at Omi, "First you're an emo and now you're a _Satanist_? What the hell wrong with you, Raimundo?"

Said emo/Satanist stared silently at the lil' dead kitty on the wall. His lip began to tremble and his eyes began to water. It wasn't a pretty sight; the eyeliner dripped in rivers down his face.

"It wasn't me, you guys!" he sobbed, hiding his head in his hands. The monks looked at each other, or what could only be called looking because their faces aren't very good canvasses for expression.

"What are you talking about? Of course you did! You're the most messed-up out of all of us!" Omi cried.

Kimiko raised an eyebrow. "Are you so sure about that, Omi?" She asked archly, gesturing towards Clay, who was wearing a flowery mumu.

Clay shrugged. "What? Can't a cowboy have a hobby?"

Everyone was quiet.

"… So who did it then?" Kimiko said quietly, not looking at the resident cowboy in drag.

Before anyone could reply, someone screamed from outside the temple.

END OF CHAPTER TWO

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SOME SORT OF A PLOT IS SHINING THROUGH THE GRIME! I have no idea where I am going with this.

I'm not trying to make this a hate fic; I _do _actually really, really like the show. I just like munting the characters :) And i'm only doing this fic for fun.

P.S Family Guy references for president!

-Death-by-Candy


	3. SomeFung Is Afoot

I'm back and I smell worse than ever!

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**MEDIOCRITY AT ITS HEIGHT**

The contents of a tapirs' stomach by Death-by-Candy

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**Chapter Three: SomeFung is Afoot**

The monks were instantly silent. The shriek continued. And continued. And continued. It ended in a gurgle.

"Well, someone's dead." said Kimiko cheerfully, glad for a change of subject.

Dojo suddenly appeared in the hole in the wall where the door had been.

"Morning guys, I just wanted to tell you someone's _refrained from living_ outside and—whoa, whoa, whoa! Is that a kitty? On our wall? _Nailed _there?" The dragon peered curiously at the steaming carcass.

"Yeah, mmhmm, stainless steel." Kimiko answered absently, heading for the entrance door.

"If you're goin' ta check out who's carked it out the front, then I'm comin' with ya!" Clay said, leaping for the door, his muumuu flapping gracefully in the slight breeze.

"JESUS CHRIST, CLAY! ARE YOU WEARING UNDERWEAR!" Kimiko screamed as Clay leapt over her.

(A/N: Come on, you know if you try you can picture Clay jumping in slow motion over Kimiko wearing a flowery dress)

Raimundo slouched after them and a grumbling Omi followed him with Dojo on his shoulder.

Of course they were startled when they saw ole Master Fung lying in a bloody and broken heap on the Xiaolin doorstep.

"DOJO! Why didn't you tell us it was Master Fung!" Kimiko cried, tripping over the carcass. She quickly regained her balance and glared at the dragon, who was staring blankly at the dead man.

"Well, I was stuffing a turkey when I heard a thump and a scream outside. I put two and two together, got five, and then I came and grabbed you four. I had no idea it was Mister Wrinkles the Fifth." Dojo shrugged and pulled a fork and a basting brush from somewhere on his person, then slithered back into the temple.

Let's not dwell on where he hid them.

Clay lifted one of Master Fungs' arms to check his pulse. He let it flop back to the ground when it sloshed completely out of the arm socket, twitching.

"This here old coot looks worse than a porcupine prostitute driving a punch-buggy through a desert highway with nothing but a glass of coke and a Pokemon plushy to keep her alive until dawn when she'll crash into a truck fuller sugar, mud and raw chicken then she'll have to eat it and she'll die from raw chicken-itis and the disease infects the whole world, killing everything in its path!" Clay commented, his eyes slowly rolling back into his head.

Kimiko bent over and licked some of the blood off of Master Fungs' foot. She smacked her lips, straightened and tapped her foot, thinking.

"Yeah, his bloods' still warm. He must have died just right _then._" Kimiko said, and then bent back down to 'Just see if it's _still _warm.'

Omi stood to the side, his eyelid twitching. One of his fists clenched then unclenched.

"HOOOOOoooooly shit!" The orb-headed boy screamed.

Clay looked at him sympathetically. "I know you feel bad little buddy. Let's find his killer. Will that make you feel any better?"

Raimundo looked up from his slumped position in the doorway. "No way, man. I'm, I'm not goin' through all that again! You can't make me, man. Not after that time, noooooo way!" He backed away, towards the entrance room, but tripped over his torn pants legs.

"What are you on about!" Clay yelled, deliberately ignoring Kimiko, who was now abandoning all dignity and lapping up the blood that was pooled on the stone steps.

"YOU KNOW EXACTLY WHAT I'M _ON ABOUT_!" Raimundo cried, dragging himself through the door, "DON'T YOU REMEMBER 'NAM!"

Clay scratched his head. "Rai, buddy, we didn't go to Vietnam, we weren't even born then. And what does that have to do with finding out who crunched Master Fung?" Raimundo seemed to calm down, breathing heavily.

"Ah, nothing I guess …" the emo muttered.

"Alright then!" Clay said, peeling a struggling Kimiko off of the ground, "LETS DO IT!"

Throwing Raimundo, Kimiko and Omi over his shoulder, Clay skipped towards the sunset, intent on finding Master Fungs' killer.

**END OF CHAPTER THREE**

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Gasps I killed off Master Fung : 

Next chapter coming soon; fulla Chase Young :D


	4. I Wanna Escape To The Movies

Arghhhlll barrggggg mooo :D

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**MEDIOCRITY AT ITS HEIGHT**

A funky smell excreted by Death-by-Candy

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**Chapter Four: I Wanna Escape To The Movies**

It was now nine a.m and at a local Video Ezy the only customers in the store were currently shrieking at each other across the aisles and waving DVDs around.

"Make up your mind already, Wuya! Do you want Big Momma's House or Mean Girls! I can only get two; we've still got Toy Story at home!" Chase cried, brandishing the discs in Wuyas' face.

Wuya pouted, somehow she had returned to her human form. "I want them both! I haven't seen either of them yet."

"Jesus, woman! Get your own card if you want more movies!" Chase whined.

"But I _waaaaant _them! And I don't wanna pay the twenty cent fee!" She cried, stomping her foot.

"Let's get Spongebob Squarepants!" Jack interjected, leaning over the drama aisle.

Chase slapped him. "That's enough. We're getting Mean Girls and that's final." He headed towards the check-out desk.

"Just cuz you want it." Jack muttered sourly, following Chase. Wuya sighed and headed after them both.

Leaving Chase and Wuya at the counter, Jack walked outside, yelling over his shoulder: "I'm just gonna get some beer. There's gotta be a booze store around here somewhere."

"Wait for me, Jack, they won't serve you- you're too young. Stay there and I'll go with you." Wuya called out. Jack frowned and leant against the glass door.

Chase was silent as the pimply boy at the counterchecked out the movie. He felt someone tug on his sleeve and he turned to see Wuya holding up a bag of pre-cooked popcorn.

"Pleeeeease, Chase! We can't watch a movie about retarded teenagers without popcorn!" She implored.

"No."

"PLEEEEEASEEE!" She was getting desperate for buttery goodness.

"No. Now let's go." Chase pocketed the movie.

"Would you be interested in--" The checkout boy began in a whiny nasal voice, but was cut off when Chase poked his throat. The boys screamed hysterically, and- grasping his neck- ran out of the store.

"What was that for?" Jack said reproachfully from the doorway, watching the boy run shrieking down the street.

Chase shrugged. "He had _pimples_. You know how much I hate any facial deformities… like--!"

He began a long rant, listing off all the facial retardation he could think of. Wuya rolled her eyes and stormed out of the store to find some alcohol, Jack trailing behind her.

It wasn't until ten minutes later, after reciting his often-repeated rant, Chase realized that his car was gone and Wuya and Jack where nowhere to be seen.

"Nuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuu!" He screamed angstily, raising his face to the sky, his hands in the air, "My drugs were in that car!"

---

A hot pink corvette was speeding down a highway; Shakiras 'Hips Dont Lie' pumping from the speakers. Jack was driving and Wuya was opening another bottle of bourbon.

"To evil!" She toasted, lifting the bottle above her head. Jack cackled and cranked the radio up louder.

**END OF CHAPTER FOUR**

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Poor Chasey, there was some top-quality cocaine in that car!

Next chapter coming to a cinema near you!

-Death-by-Candy


	5. A Nice Dose Of Kitty Angst

I smell like greasy, greasy bacon!

XS doesn't obviously doesn't belong to me. It wouldn't be a kid's show if it did; it'd be a court case.

_Oh, and a lil shout-out to all my reviewers: Thankya babies! Much luff and good times be headin' your way on a cloud of spun gold and rainbows :D! 3 3 3_

Please Allow Four Days for 'Cloud of Spun Gold and Rainbows' Delivery. $39,000 Postage and Handling:

…

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**MEDIOCRITY AT ITS HEIGHT**

Iced Tea With A Spritz Of Lemon by Death-by-Candy

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**Chapter Five: A Nice Dose Of Kitty Angst**

Ashley a.k.a Katnappe sat in a ripped-upholstery lounge in a tiny apartment that was centered in the worst street in wherever the hell she was. Yea, she thought, hell was right. There was a baby lying prostrate on top of her head; probably unconscious. She paid it no attention. She was lost in a world of her own, thinking about the glory days… when she was _Katnappe_! World-famous evil guy! I mean, girl! Well, maybe not _world _famous…

She sighed and shifted in the chair. The baby slipped off of her head and landed with soft _flump! _on the greasy carpet. The sight that met her eyes made her want to bawl. There were children everywhere, screaming and crying and playing in the lounge room. What made it worse was that they were all hers. Even though it was logically impossible, due to Katnappe being around fifteen herself, there were even kids that were fifteen and sixteen, rolling around on the floor; scratching their eyeballs and moaning.

She sighed again and took a lengthy swig from her bottle of vodka. When had her life gone wrong? she thought despairingly. She pursed her lips; she _knew_ when it had gone to the shit-house… when she met that clown at the traveling circus… he was the father of nineteen of the children currently roaming her flat. Before she could dive into a possibly detailed and raunchy flash-back, there was a knock at her door.

She slowly lifted herself off of the lounge, (actually it was more _peeling _herself off of it; she had gained a few pounds since she had all those kids) and headed for the door. Three children around two clung to her legs and a five year old latched onto her shoulder with its teeth.

She tried half-heartedly to shake them off but gave up when the effort became too much. Finally she managed to drag herself to the door and open it.

Katnappe would have done a back-flip when she saw Wuya and Jack standing outside her door if she could lift herself with the extra weight of the children clinging to her.

Jack raised an eyebrow when he saw the state Katnappe was in, but shoved past her anyway, a staggering Wuya following him.

"And I was… I was…" Wuya muttered, a silly grin on her face, "I told Tubby to shove it where the… the… the sun don't shine." She giggled and collapsed on the sweaty lounge that Katnappe had just left.

"So you've said," Jack grumbled, throwing a bottle of schnapps at Katnappe, who scrambled for it, the kids flying off of her.

Once she had caught the precious bottle, Katnappe narrowed her eyes. "What are you guys doing here?"

Jack reclined on the floor, leaning against the lounge, taking swigs from his own bottle.

"We…" Wuyas slurred, peering at her through blurry eyes, "Hehe, we shtole Chases' car and his drugs and HA!" Wuya was suddenly unconscious, sprawled ungraciously on the couch.

Jack shook his head, "You'd think she could handle a few drinks after 1500 years boozing, wouldn't you?"

Katnappe didn't reply. Jack looked around the room languidly. "There are more kids here than the last time we visited!" he exclaimed, ignoring a baby wriggling over his legs.

"Yeah, well, ya know, when all the women go to war and leave their men at home…" Katnappe shrugged.

"Sooooooooo…" Jack murmured.

Katnappe coughed. Wuya started to heave over the side of the lounge. A baby rolled in it.

"Yeeeeeeah…I… I think… coming here was a mistake." Jack said, scratching his head. He stood up, wiping kids off his and grabbed Wuya by her hair, dragging her onto the floor. She giggled as Jack dragged her out of the door and down the stairwell.

"NOOOOOOOOO! Don't go!" Katnappe screamed, reaching for their retreating backs, "Don't leave me here! Please! Not with these… these _things_!" But they were gone.

She slid to floor, sobbing as the children climbed over her, _enveloping _her, until all that was left was a writhing mass of babies on the floor. Her last screams echoed pitifully and were eventually slowly muffled.

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That was prolly the weirdest and worst chapter on this story. Sorry, it won't happen again. :D

In other news, click on my profile to see a link to a fan art for this story: 'Clayelda Dancing.' ITS WORTH IT I SWEAR!

-Death-by-Candy


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